


A Great View of the Ocean

by strangeallure



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Banter, Communication, Courtship, F/M, First Time, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: Sylvia and Ash are classmates and lunch buddies, but she hopes he's interested in more. When he invites her to join him and his friends at a get-together not far from the ocean, she has a chance to find out.





	A Great View of the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> So I was in dire need of new Star Trek Discovery content and decided to browse the tag on tumblr more extensively. Turns out Mary Wiseman and Shazad Latif have amazing friendship chemistry. He even wore a "Silly4Tilly" shirt at some convention.  
> Since Michael and Ash are my OTP in-show, I decided to write an AU where Tilly and Tyler meet at Starfleet Academy. Both of them are super-cute and I love them _so, so_ much.
> 
> Thank you to [frangipani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani/pseuds/frangipani) for her encouragement and feedback.

The sun is in Sylvia’s eyes, so it takes her a while to realize that the figure jogging up the hill in her direction is Ash. Ash Tyler, classmate, lunch buddy, crush.

He’s barely out of breath when he stops in front of her and gives her a quick hug hello. He smells faintly like the sea with a hint of citrus from his cologne, and the fabric of his shirt feels comfortable against her cheek, warm with body heat.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” he says with an easy grin, standing close.

She’s not always great at reading social cues, but there’s something genuine about him that makes it easier for her to relax. She believes him when he says nice things to her.

They’ve been having lunch after class for a while now, and the first time he wanted to get dinner, she had to cancel last-minute. She’s happy he’s finally asked again, although it’s just an informal get-together in the park with some of his friends. Sylvia doesn’t want to jinx it, but she’s hopeful that his interest in her is more than just friendly. She’s admittedly also a little nervous about meeting so many new people at once.

“Yeah, me, too.” Her smile is probably broader than the situation warrants, but she tries not to care.

They walk down the rest of the hill together towards his friends. As they go, Ash gives her a quick once-over.

“Nice dress,” he says, and she feels her face flush. “The blue really brings out your eyes.”

She’s happy he noticed, she hoped he would like to see her in something less stuffy and more fun than their regular uniforms. It also _accentuates her curves_ , as her mother would say. Plus, the super-soft cotton is printed with cute seagulls.

“Thank you,” she replies, “I love seagulls.”

It’s an inane statement, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

When they reach their destination, Ash gets the attention of the small group and gestures between them and Sylvia.

“Everyone, this is Syl.” She’s never had a nickname before, and she gets a bit of a kick out of it. It makes her feel closer to him, like they’re real friends. “Syl, this is everyone.”

“And you guys,” he adds with an outstretched pointer finger, “best behavior. Don’t embarrass me.”

An Andorian girl gets up gracefully and extends a blue hand in greeting. “Finally,” she says, “the one with the amazing hair.”

Sylvia resists the urge to touch the big mass of red curls on her head and takes the offered hand. She tries not to feel self-conscious about the comment, although she’s not quite sure what to make of it. But then she notices the way Ash ducks his head, the smile on his face uncharacteristically shy, and she realizes it was genuine. He’s been talking about her.

“Best behavior, Lorana,” he says. “Is that really all you can do?”

“What did you expect, Tyler?” the girl asks. It seems familiar, like they are used to teasing each other.

“Fair enough.” He gives an easy shrug, confirming her read of their exchange.

“Anyway,” the girl is still holding Sylvia’s hand, “nice to meet you, Syl. I’m Lorana.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Sylvia shakes her hand firmly. When she realizes it’s maybe too enthusiastic, she quickly lets go. “Lorana,” she adds after a second that stretches just a little too long.

The girl winks conspiratorially before she goes and grabs another drink. “He’s really into big hair.”

Ash’s friends are a nice mix of people, different ages, different races, different specializations. Sylvia’s not the only Academy freshman or only engineer in the bunch, though she actually talks most deeply with Lorana, who’s an astronomy junior, and Will, who graduated with an MD last year and only came by because he happens to be on shore leave.

One of Ash’s friends, Kawambe, is really into the de-tech movement and has set up an old-fashioned campfire burning actual wood. She discovers that she loves the crackling heat of the flames and even the slightly acrid smell that fills the air from burnt particles.

Someone brought big Kara’atchi flowers and mesh baskets on sticks to roast them over the fire. Sylvia’s only ever had them in a salad, and it’s surprising how crispy they get and how the smoke brings out a certain spiciness in their fleshy leaves. Maybe there’s something to de-tech’ing after all, though it still sounds like a strange hobby for someone majoring in applied physics.

Ash hardly leaves her side all night, even if he does drift in and out of her conversations once she’s established a rapport with some of his friends. When talking to other people, he still stays close, in almost continuous physical contact with her – his feet stretched out towards the fire so their ankles touch, his hand brushing some of the free-floating ashes from her shoulder when someone stokes the fire, his back resting against hers while Kawambe teaches her an old card game, Ash’s and Kayoko’s debate of maneuvering jets a pleasant noise in the background.

It’s nice; more comfortable than social gatherings usually are for her.

When most of the group has scattered, Ash rises to his feet and reaches out for her hand.

“Maybe we could take a walk,” he says with a small smile, not letting go of her hand once she gets up. “The ocean looks beautiful in the moonlight.”

She feels an answering smile grow on her face. “That sounds nice,” she replies, the words coming out quiet.

He guides her towards a small grove, a shortcut quite popular among cadets. She knows the waterfront is just a short walk, and part of her really wants to go, but she’s growing anxious again. This seems like the cusp of something, a turning point. Those are not her specialty.

They’re about to step between the trees when she stops. Ash turns towards her, his smile dimming a little, but his eyes still kind. “Or I can show you another time,” he offers.

His hand is still in hers. She squeezes it lightly, an instinctive gesture. She doesn’t want him to think that she’s turning him down, especially since she’s kind of crazy about him.

“Are you really into big hair?” she blurts out. It’s the first thought that comes to her suddenly blank mind. She should feel stupid, yet somehow, she doesn’t.

Ash shakes his head a little, but it seems like a sign of surprise, amusement even. His right hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I am,” he says, voice pitched low. “Mostly, though, I’m really into you.” His hand is still behind her ear, almost touching, the possibility of a caress.

Sylvia laughs nervously, her eyes cutting away. She braces herself and meets his gaze. “That’s good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, voice still low, but with a playful note now that makes her heart flutter.

“Really good,” she says and stretches up to kiss him.

All she meant to do was press her lips to his and linger a little, maybe slide into an embrace, but once her mouth meets his, a little chapped and tasting of Andorian ale, she can’t help parting her lips, pushing out her tongue. He opens up eagerly, angling his head to give her better access, the stubble on his chin rubbing against the side of her cheek.

Soon his lips start to roam, to explore. Butterfly kisses down the column of her throat make her arch into him, and when his hands grab her waist and quickly slide lower, it sends an excited buzz through her system. Her left hand tightens around his hip and her right slides into the hair behind his ear, cradling his head, soft strands tangling between her fingers.

Ash finds the perfect spot to make her moan, just at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and sucks on it, teeth scraping, tongue sliding against her too-warm skin. He starts kneading her backside, welcome pressure from his palms, from the pads of his fingers, even as his thumbs provide a counter weight, like he’s trying to keep from pulling her into him, trying to maintain an inch of space between them.

His touch, his mouth, everything feels so good, all that heat and closeness, and even this little bit of space between their bodies seems too much, a waste.

“Damn,” Ash moans against her collarbone. He pulls away to look at her, and a nervous knot materializes in her belly. Did she do something wrong? Why is he pulling away? His hands, however, don’t break contact, just drift back up to her waist, like he’s unwilling to let go of her, even as he feels there’s something he needs to say.

“Syl,” his voice is like a dry leaf, “I noticed that you, um, don’t really swear.” He swallows around a self-deprecating smile. “Like, at all.”

She looks at him, baffled, and takes a step back, her hands falling to her side. “What?” It comes out higher-pitched than intended.

He makes a weird noise. “I know this is a bad time, but …” even in the dark she can see the blood rising in his cheeks. It’s kind of adorable.

Sylvia raises her hand to gingerly pat his upper arm. “Um, no,” she says, trying to compose herself. “It’s fine.”

He cocks his head and laughs, quiet, maybe a bit nervous, she thinks. The thought calms her down. She’s not sure where this is going yet, but he’s clearly anxious about how she will react. Her opinion matters to him. “It’s just that, when I’m … getting _intimate_ with someone,” he rolls his eyes, but it seems directed at himself, “I like to, uh, talk.”

He licks his lips and it draws her eyes to his mouth, a hint of teeth glittering in the moonlight. A mouth that she just kissed and that had kissed her back. And it had felt nice. No, much more than nice.

He looks at her from under his lashes and there’s something in his posture, a nervous tension.

It takes her a moment to make the connection between their situation and his words. When she does, she has to laugh out loud. Naturally, she gets some spit on his face.

“Oh, oh my, sorry,” she says, mortified, and starts rubbing at his cheek. “I’m so sorry.” His face is a little confused, but his expression doesn’t close off like she thought it might.

“I just, I mean,” she laughs, feeling twitchy, trying to find the right words, “it’s not that I never swear, it’s just that, you know, my grandma used to say, ‘when you curse, make it count’.” _Great time to bring up grandma_ , she thinks. She’s babbling and she knows it, but he’s still there, still close, so she takes a deep breath and tries again. “What I mean is, I don’t casually swear because I want it to have maximum impact when I _do_ do it.”

He nods. “That makes sense.” His tone is more even now, and there’s an expression she can’t quite name on his face, it might well be amusement. It certainly looks attractive.

She feels the next words rushing out of her. “But that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t like hearing what you’d like to do to me,” she feels herself flush, heat pooling low in her belly, “in, you know, more risqué terms.” _Risqué terms? Seriously_? Why can’t she just come out and say what she means in clear, non-antiquated terms like other people?

“Wait,” she adds, another possibility popping up in her head. “This _is_ about talking dirty, right? You don’t want to just curse me out and call me names?” She bites her lip, awkward all of a sudden. _Curse her out?_ That’s not how grown-ups talk. What the heck is she doing? She tries to course correct. “Which, you know, is totally cool, no judgment, but it’s not really …”

Now it’s his turn to laugh, but it’s soft, fond, and he briefly presses his lips onto her babbling mouth; a quick, dry kiss that’s the best, most reassuring way to shut her up.

“No,” he chuckles, “no name-calling.” He’s staying really close, his hands back around her waist and his eyes finding hers. His tone settles her, makes her feel at ease.

He smiles playfully, but his gaze turns hot and his hands start roaming lower again. “I just really wanted to tell you what a fucking great ass you have.”

A part of her wants to giggle, wants to contest the statement, maybe make a self-deprecating joke, but the heat in his eyes and the way he pulls her close by said ass makes her believe him. It’s thrilling to hear it like this, straightforward, no room for miscommunication.

She swallows. “I,” she starts, “I like hearing that.” Her voice sounds strange over the blood rushing in her head, and she feels too aware of everything, the weight of his hands on her, the warmth of his breath against her face.

His smile turns a bit cocky. “Good,” he says and kisses her again, more deeply this time. “Because I have a lot more to say about it.”

She does giggle then, but it’s small and intimate, with her forehead touching his.

They trade kisses back and forth, Ash’s mouth traveling down to her neckline and back again in between, murmuring heated praise into the curve or her shoulder, the shell of her ear. After a while she finds herself crowded against a tree, rough bark scraping uncomfortably against the thin cotton of her dress. The heavy heat of his body feels so good, but not quite enough to distract her from the discomfort.

He’s warm and solid under her palms, and all she wants is to stay close, even as she gives him a small shove.

With a hand’s breadth of night air where their bodies are no longer pressed together, her skin feels even hotter, her breathing shallow and loud, just like his. She yearns to know how far this could go.

“About the ocean,” she says hoarsely and enjoys the confusion spreading across his features.

“I happen to have a pretty good view from my room …” She really, really wants to have him in her room, preferably in her bed, where it’s nice and cozy, and there are no twigs catching in her hair, no tree bark chafing against her skin -- and no chance of being interrupted. For once she’s glad she wasn’t assigned a roommate.

“Oh yeah?” There’s a glimmer in his eyes. “Better hurry then.” He grins as he takes her hand and pulls her into the direction of the dorms. “Just in case it’s going to cloud over.”

He’s setting a good pace and she appreciates it. It feels like he’s as eager for this as she is.

They thumbprint into the building and step into the elevator. As the doors close behind them, two of his fingers tilt up her face, and he bends down to give her a slow, simmering kiss. It makes a warm and tingly feeling spread through her, her hands sliding around his waist in a motion that feels exciting yet already familiar.

Soon they’re in front of her door, his chest against her back, his mouth nuzzling her neck. Wrapping her up in a warmth that’s both comfortable and tantalizing. She turns in his arms a little, cranes her head to look at him.

“I don’t actually have a great view of the ocean,” she says and it’s mostly playful, but there’s a little nervousness creeping in. She’s not always great with this flirting thing, and she’s pretty sure, but still … “Like, I have to get on my tippy-toes to even see it at all. I mean, you’re tall, so--”

He’s laughing and she can feel it reverberate where their bodies touch, can see it crinkling his eyes at the corners. “Syl, I’m not here for the view. At least not for the one out your window.”

She nods slowly, relief and delight mingling in her belly. “I’d better let us in then.”

“I would like that a lot,” he says softly, filling her with anticipation.

After the lock clicks shut behind them, he makes a show of finding her window. “So where’s that great view I’ve heard so much about?”

She laughs, instantly more at ease, and rolls her eyes at him. She has such a good feeling about this.

“I’m going to sit down over here,” she announces and lets herself fall onto her bed. “You go ahead and find the perfect view.” She nods towards the window.

His smile is slow, his eyes focused on her alone. He seems so tall from this vantage point, a looming warm presence she’d like to envelop her. “I already have.” He sits down next to her, a little askance, and pulls her into his arms.

His breath is hot and humid against her neck and she can hear him smell her hair. “You’re gorgeous.” His mouth finds hers for a long, long kiss, her body opening up to him like a flower.

“And you taste amazing,” he whispers against her open mouth. It feels good, the way he praises her, tells her what he likes. It makes her feel wanted.

She can be bold, too. Sylvia finds the hem of his shirt and shoves it up, eager to get it off of him, to touch his skin. There’s pleased surprise in his expression when he realizes what she’s doing, and he curls his shoulders to make it easier for her, muscles moving deliciously beneath her hands.

As she throws the shirt to the floor, he catches her cheek in his palm in what is swiftly becoming her favorite gesture in the whole world and pulls her back towards him.

She uses the little brain power she has left to maneuver herself into his lap without breaking their kiss. Her knees bracket his hips, so she’s taller than him, bending down to his mouth. It’s intoxicating to sit on top of him like this, his naked body straining towards her. Confidence building, she begins a pattern of pulling back then diving back in, a string of kisses that clearly don’t last as long as he would like; but that’s the point, to tease him, make him chase her mouth with his. 

“You’re killing me here, Syl,” he pants when she uses her hands as a brace to keep her lips just out of reach of his. His mouth is kissed red and there’s sweat gathering along his temples, between the hairs on his chest. He’s beautiful and he wants her, and she wants him, too.

She’s giddy with how good it feels. A mischievous smile unfurls on her features, and without preamble, she pushes him onto his back. His hands grab onto her waist as he falls, and their new balance makes his hips drive up into her.

Sylvia can feel his arousal, counterpart to her own, and grinds down instinctively, needing to get closer, craving friction.

“Fuck, Syl,” he groans and pulls her down against his chest. She comes eagerly, impatient to travel all this exposed skin with her hands as she kisses him breathless, as they rock together.

His hands become more daring, too, one slipping under the skirt of her dress, roaming over her bottom through the fabric of her underwear, while the other cups her breast, thumb rubbing insistently, getting her nipple hard even through the bodice and bra. She feels her pulse throb between her legs, his touch sending a low-level hum through her body.

His skin is so soft, coated in a thin sheen of sweat, the hairs on his chest a little coarser. She enjoys the contrast as she explores. His growls and moans tell her what he likes and fuel her own desire. She curves herself upward enough to slide her hand between them, trace the line of hair that leads down to his belly button, then moves further down. His hips buck when she strokes his lower belly, so she does it again, delighted in the power she has over him. She licks at his mouth while she does it, licks into it, open-mouthed and wet.

Sylvia curls her fingers against the small swell of his belly, pads caressing and nails scraping by turns. He moans against her mouth, tells her how much he likes what she’s doing. Just for that she wants to do it again, go further, give him more.

Bunching her skirt in her hands, she shifts on top of him. The smile on her face feels big and bright. “Let me just–“ she starts and moves to pull up her dress. She can’t wait to be naked with him, to feel the drag of her damp skin against his, feel her nipples rub against the hairs on his chest as they make out.

His hands close over hers, gentle yet firm, and he gives her a quick smile that’s hard to decipher. _Bashful_ pops into her head, and though it sounds incongruous, it fits.

“Could you,” he presses his lips together, eyes cutting away as the tips of his ears turn red. “Could you maybe take off your bra,” he swallows visibly, “but keep the dress on?”

A pulse of tension goes through his body as he says it, pushing up his hips. She assumes it’s unintentional. He’s so obviously turned on, pressing hard and hot against her underwear, it tempers her surprise at the question, leaving her more intrigued than anything else. “Just for a little while,” he adds, voice thick.

She arches an eyebrow. “That is quite a specific request.” She didn’t intend to sound so sly, but he seems to enjoy it, eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint.

Without warning he grabs her waist and swiftly manhandles her so they lie facing each other.

An undignified yelp escapes her. “Hey,” she says, laughing, “I was quite enjoying that position.”

Ash laughs that warm smile, tongue darting between his teeth. “We’ll get there again.” He props his head on his hand as the other hand starts playing with her hair.

“But now, it’s story time,” he says in mock earnest.

She shakes her head, charmed in spite of herself. She has no idea where this is going, and she would definitely welcome more physical contact, but she feels good about this, secure in herself like she rarely is around other people. She can be patient, at least a little.

His gaze drifts towards her ear, where he’s coiling a strand of hair around his finger, avoiding her gaze. “You remember that fire drill a few months ago?”

She rolls her eyes. Where the heck is this going?

“Hazily,” she replies. “I mean, safety is important, I get that, but 2:30 am – that just seems cruel.”

“At first I was pissed, too, but then I saw you,” he lets go of the lock of hair and his finger finds her jawbone, tracing it, “in that white nightshirt.” His finger slides from her chin down her throat, a featherlight touch that makes her clench. “No bra.”

The way he says it, something like smoke in his voice, makes her a little self-conscious but a lot turned on. She doesn’t really remember that night – or him, for that matter. She had been fast asleep when the alarm sounded, so by the time she was standing on the wet lawn in front of the dorms, she was still bleary-eyed, hair sticking every which way. The only thing she remembers is how peeved she was when they were told it was just a drill.

Knowing that he saw her, that he liked what he saw, is still thinking about it … it’s hot. She’s really starting to see the appeal of this talking while making out thing.

His finger is drawing along the outline of her bra now, and she feels her breathing pick up, the barrier of fabric a reminder of how much she yearns for his skin on hers.

“It was such a cold night, too.” He smiles to himself, clearly enjoying the memory. “And I was honestly trying not to stare.” His voice manages to combine self-deprecation with teasing.

“Yeah?” Even that one little word sounds breathless.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I was as discreet as I could be, but Syl … it was really hard.”

She doesn’t snort, too captivated to notice the double entendre.

“Pun not intended,” he amends with a grin and presses a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth, staying closer than he was before. “But appreciated.”

“I don’t mean to be creepy, but your breasts looked spectacular.” His hand closes over one of them, squeezing, and his eyes drop down to where his hand is. He bites his lip, drawing her attention to his beautiful mouth. “It gave me a lot of ideas.”

She can pretty much feel the heat radiating from his cheeks, and while his tone is sexy and flirty, it also feels like an admission. It’s weirdly sweet.

“So you’d like me to lose the bra, but keep the dress,” she whispers. Saying it out loud like that exerts an unexpected appeal, a tingling sensation spreading.

“Please,” he says, his lids closing for a long moment. The desire in his voice makes her pulse pick up, her blood run hotter. “I promise I’ll take it off of you soon enough.” He grins, a boyish expression with a sharp edge that feeds the growing heat in her belly. “I have a lot of ideas about that, too.”

Knowing that he’s been thinking about her _that way,_ and for that long, gives her some ideas of her own, and she feels a pull of want at her center.

She gets up and throws a playful smirk over her shoulder. “I’ll do you one better,” she assures him and delights in the confused anticipation she finds on his face.

Her back is to him as she opens one of her dresser drawers, but she can feel his presence, new and exciting in her room. She pulls her dress over her head and discards it on the floor before she unhooks her bra. There’s a sharp intake of breath, and she imagines she can feel the heat of his gaze on her naked skin. She quickly puts on her oversized “Daystrom Institute” t-shirt and is about to turn around when warm hands close over her hips from behind. Ash pulls her close and his mouth finds that perfect spot on her neck again, nuzzling it. She breathes in his scent, saltier than before, matching her own, she’s sure.

“You’re amazing, Syl,” he turns her around into a tighter embrace, “so fucking hot.”

His head bends down and he kisses her deep and dirty, tongue insistent and wet as he walks them back to her bed, lays her out on top of the rumpled blanket and takes a moment to rove over her body with greedy eyes. Even though she’s wearing a shirt, she feels exposed. It’s like a thread spun between them, like she can see her own hunger in him, her own desire reflected back at her.

“Even better than I remember,” he murmurs, more to himself, before he joins her on the bed.

There’s tenderness in his touch when his hands close around her breasts, and it belies the heat in his gaze. His palms feel deliciously large against her tee, their hot press through the thin cotton amplifying her awareness of being naked underneath. All she can think is _more_. She doesn’t have to say it out loud for him to oblige.

Soon her shirt is damp, white material almost see-through with his saliva, dragging against her skin with every lap of his tongue. Her nipples are so hard, it’s almost painful when his mouth switches sides, the air of the room cooling down the wet fabric, prickling cold against her fevered body. As he sucks her one nipple, his thumb draws tight and tighter circles around the other, the motion wrinkling the fabric against her over-sensitized skin. Tension thrums through her, making her shiver, making her moan, her underwear getting slick with how much she wants him. Her hands slide in and out of his hair, over his neck and naked shoulders, mindless as she gives herself over to his ministrations, greedy for everything he has to give her.

His legs straddle her thigh, and she can feel how good this is for him, too, his arousal a heavy press against her flesh, a pleasurable rhythm of deep and deeper. 

With every minute, he gets better at reading her, bringing her right up to the edge of too much before letting up. He strokes her sides and belly under her shirt, fingers dancing against her rib cage as he showers her with filthy praise, waiting for her ragged moans to simmer down. His hands fondling the underside of her breasts, kneading and stroking in turn until she’s cooled off enough for him to drive her wild again.

“One more thing,” he says and the corner of his mouth curves up in an expression that definitely qualifies as lewd.

Before she can so much as guess what he’s talking about, he tucks the shirt away from her body and pushes his head under the fabric, burrowing his face between her breasts. Something in the back of her mind tells her that this should probably be ridiculous, but it feels too good, so she doesn’t follow that thought.

He hums against the sweat-slick skin, lips hot and breath humid against her, and it’s better than it has any right to be. When he slides over, his mouth closing over her nipple, the first time without anything in between, she cries out. The rasp of stubble on her hyper-sensitized skin, the rub of his fingers playing with the other nipple, it’s glorious and overwhelming.

“Finally,” she pants, and she can feel his laughter against her skin, an enjoyable vibration.

She whines indignantly when he pulls away, but it’s just to push her shirt up to her collarbone. He extends his neck to look at her over the fabric.

“Impatient, are we?” He snickers, but his eyes are hooded. He’s right, too, she _is_ impatient, craving his touch, the press of his body against hers.

Ash pushes off her shirt and flings it away, then leans in, lips almost touching her ear.

“It’s okay,” he says, and it sounds pretty cocky, until he adds, “don’t worry. Me, too.”

He adjusts his position on top of her, settling in between her thighs, more of his weight on her, framing her face in his hands. It feels so intimate when he does that, like he wants to study her, memorize her features. He smiles down at her and his kiss is surprisingly soft, his eyes staying open, hypnotizing her.

Her want for him is like a low hum thrumming through her body, slowly but surely overloading her synapses, making her eager and needy, too tight in her own skin. 

She wraps her legs around his, hooking her feet against his calves, making the both of them touch as much as she can. A husky purr rises from his throat and sends a drum beat of desire down her spine.

His kisses stay slow, but it feels deliberate, like he has to make an effort to not kiss her deeper and deeper. She’s not sure why she isn’t deepening the kisses herself, but there is something intoxicating about this state of suspension, about holding off when they’re both so eager for more.

“So,” he says between kisses, “what would _you_ like to do now?” His cadence is deliciously uneven and it makes her squeeze him with her whole body, pulling him further into her before relaxing beneath him again.

She’s unsure how to answer, giddy with possibility. Her head shakes, making the cloud of her hair move around her, a red shadow in her peripheral vision. She beams up at him, looking goofy, she knows, but also pretty sure that’s part of what he likes about her.

Sylvia’s good at babbling, but not always great at articulating what she wants, not always good at even _knowing_ what she wants. But one thing she does know she wants, and it’s him.

She puts one hand over her face and looks at him through splayed fingers, almost embarrassed by her own eagerness, but drunk on how sure she is he wants her just as much.

“Everything?” she laughs more than she says it.

A hearty guffaw rumbles deep in his chest and splits his face, exposing the two perfect rows of his teeth. She feels a wave of something more than passion, a deep fondness, swell inside her. 

“You are seriously overestimating my stamina here,” he says, body still vibrating with amusement. “But I think I can come up with a few things to try.”

He touches his nose against hers, and for a moment, there’s a weighty sincerity in his eyes, his voice. “You don’t have to say anything out loud, but if there’s something you want or like or,” he shrugs awkwardly, “or maybe you _don’t like_ when I do it.” He swallows. “Just let me know.” They’re so close she can see the faint blush creeping up his cheeks. His care comes as no surprise, a natural extension of who he is, and it warms her to her toes.

“I want you to enjoy this as much as I do,” he says quietly, earnestly, and she’s completely charmed - like she wasn’t already.

She nods, “Okay,” and surges up against him, mashing their mouths together in a deep kiss, pressing the length of her body into his.

Sylvia’s not sure how long they’re kissing, but her head is spinning by the time Ash lets up, his breath a hot staccato as his lips move down her throat, nibbling at her collarbone, lavishing attention on her chest, sucking and stroking and rubbing her breasts with an enthusiasm that’s both hot and endearing. She keeps cradling his head, tightening her fingers when his mouth and hands feel especially good, gently pushing at him when they don’t or it gets too much.

She loves watching him like this, his hair and hands a sharp contrast to her own pale skin, his whole attention on her, keen to learn the telltale signs of her body. She blindly grabs for her pillow and pushes it under the small of her back, so she can watch him more comfortably.

He looks up as she wiggles it in place, hair tousled and falling into his eyes. “Enjoying the view?” he says, his voice a heady mix of sweetness and swagger that makes her pulse pound between her thighs.

He has the nerve to smirk at her, then lets his eyes travel down her body deliberately. “I know I am.”

She laughs, but it sounds weird in her own ears, suffused with simmering arousal. When he dives deeper, trailing wet kisses over her stomach, the sound turns into a drawn-out moan.

Her reaction is not lost on him, and he starts to experiment, letting his fingers press and slide in turn, insistent, then feather-soft against the sensitive skin of her belly. He’s a quick study, figuring out that the lighter his touch, the more intense her reaction. His tongue traces barely-there patterns around her navel and his lips ghost over her skin. Her hands cling to him, tangling in his hair, and she arches her body against his mouth, aching for more.

Finally, he slides down even lower, pressing his face into her lap.

“Fuck, Syl,” he breathes, hot air tantalizing against the damp fabric of her underwear, “I can smell how turned on you are, how wet for me.” There’s no swagger this time, just something like awe.

And it’s true, she’s so keyed up, so into him and what he’s doing to her. Hearing him say it like that, so excited by her arousal, like her pleasure is an end in itself, winds at that coil inside her, takes her high and higher.

“You could basically drink me down at this point,” she says bluntly and feels her hips push forward against his face, her honesty feeding into her own arousal.

He groans and the sound goes straight to her core.

“You’re killing me,” he says, grinning up at her, catching his breath. His fingers tuck into the waistband of her underwear and he pulls it down slowly, placing quick kisses on the newly exposed skin and red curls. It’s another stall tactic that’s maddeningly perfect, fueling her barely-contained passion.

At some point, he gets rid of her panties and her legs fall open. There’s a beautiful smile on his face and then he bends down, the flat of his tongue slowly swiping up along the crevice of her wet folds. It’s almost reverent, the way his eyes shine, the way he takes his time, and she’s exhilarated to watch him, a chance to see herself through his eyes. She likes the picture laid out in front of her, of desire and affection, of how well they fit together. 

His eyes slide shut and he licks his lips appreciatively, like he savors the taste, relishes it. It’s one of the hottest things she’s ever seen, making her breath catch, causing a fresh rush of wetness between her thighs.

He hums and opens his eyes lazily. “I could get drunk on how good you taste.” He places a kiss to the inside of her thigh, his stubble sending a small jolt of electricity through her. “Especially with you watching like this.”

She clenches around nothing, her hips thrusting up without conscious thought. He makes to kiss between her legs again, but straightens instead.

“How about we reposition real quick?” he asks, a bit sheepish. “I want to do this right, take my time.” There’s that stupidly cute blush again. “And I need some more, uh, wiggle room to make it last.” He clears his throat. “Get comfortable, you know.”

The way he says it, words coming out fast, stumbling between phrases, it’s familiar, similar to her own babbling, and it’s surprisingly endearing, sexy even.

He’s standing in front of her now, and she can clearly see the outline of his erection through his pants. Her legs rub together of their own accord, trying to get some friction.

She’s still on the bed, bending forward now to get on her knees. She goes slower than she otherwise would, making sure Ash has a perfect view. As intended, his eyes track the movement of her breasts, throat convulsing with a thick swallow. 

“Yeah,” she smirks, nodding to his groin, “that doesn’t look too comfortable.” It does, however, look oh-so-tempting, making her throat dry and her mouth water. She slides her thumbs between his hot skin and his underwear and pulls both briefs and pants down in one movement.

His erection springs free, bobbing a little, close to her face. She can almost taste the salty, earthy smell, and an unexpected surge of possessiveness runs through her. This is just for her, _because of her_. She licks her lips, gratified by how his eyes are drawn to the movement, by the way his buttocks clench in reply.

She makes a small show of leaning down, the halo of her hair brushing against his skin as she grabs onto his pants, still halfway around his thighs. Just that brief contact makes him tremble.

“We should probably get these off,” she chirps with fake primness, a small power surge running through her system. She feels sexy and in charge, emboldened by how much he wants her, how much they want each other.

They get his remaining clothes off, and she takes a moment to drink him in: rangy stature and long fingers, the planes of his chest and slightly rounded softness of his belly, how his waist tapers down into the jut of his hip bones. He’s gorgeous and the mere sight is enough to increase her heart rate, make her fingers itch with the need to touch him.

She can see the blood rising from his chest into his neck at her scrutiny. He seems to enjoy the attention, though, keeping still so she can look her fill, even as it leaves him a little flustered. Turnabout’s fair play, after all.

When her eyes find his again, his shoulders relax and he smiles that enthusiastic smile he has, clapping his hands together and starting to crouch down in front of her.

“Actually,” she says, gesturing him closer, “I’d prefer you up here.” She hardly recognizes her own voice.

“As you wish.”

He sits down next to her on the bed and she pulls him on top of her, kissing him deeply. Her own taste still lingers faintly on his tongue, a reminder of how amazing he made her feel only minutes ago.

She surprises herself by speaking again, “I just need to keep kissing you.” It’s like a live wire, this desire to have him above her, feel the solidity of his body, his weight pushing her into the mattress, to discover him with her hands, smell his skin and taste it, too.

His mouth is hot on hers, tongue quick and clever, and after a moment or two, he murmurs against her lips. “Excellent point.”

They kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands caressing her sides, her back, her hands exploring him, her body winding and sliding against his, anticipation evolving into hunger. It takes her a while to notice that something is not exactly how it’s supposed to be, that his hips are positioned somewhat awkwardly, still supporting most of his weight on one side, still not close enough.

She feels a smile grow on her face as understanding dawns, fond despite her growing impatience.

“I didn’t mean _just_ kissing,” she clarifies with a note of exasperation that’s mostly teasing. “I want to,” she feels her heart spike further, an insistent throb in all her pulse points, as she decides to say it out loud, “I want you inside me.”

The energy shifts between them, his jaw clenching in a raw expression, a mirror of her own desire. Almost instantly, though, his face changes again until he grins down at her, affectionate and clearly pleased. He swiftly repositions so he’s mostly on top of her, his erection heavy and insistent against her stomach.

His forearms cage her in, making her feel trapped in the best way, and his mouth finds hers for a slow and filthy kiss.

“Fair warning,” he says, mouth quirking. “I might not last long this time.”

“As long as there’s a next time,” she replies and lets her hands slide down to the round of his backside, pulling him more firmly against her.

“Oh yeah,” he promises in a smoky purr.

He moves onto his knees and grabs her hips, canting up her pelvis before he positions himself at her entrance. He’s quick and sure about it, knowing just how their bodies should fit together, and his easy confidence is such a turn-on. 

When he looks at her with a soft expression, a different kind of pleasure spikes through her. “Good?” he asks.

She nods and he bears down slowly, carefully, giving her time to accommodate him, get used to the unfamiliar stretch. She adjust quickly, so ready for him, more than just eager. Soon he’s in all the way, his body a pleasant, breathing weight pinning her down. Her body and senses are filled by him, his smell all around her, his taste in her mouth. It’s intoxicating and yet she craves more.

“You feel amazing,” he whispers into the side of her face, “almost too good.”

She presses her lips against his neck, drawing up her knees to feel him even deeper, show him how good it is for her, too. He groans, then begins raining quick kisses across her face, like he has to collect himself before he finally starts moving inside her.

It takes them some time to find a rhythm, an easy cadence that leaves both of them enough breath to trade deep, slow kisses. It’s maddening and pleasurable at the same time. A part of her savors the slow build of heat, enjoys delaying her pleasure, dragging it out. The other part wants to just go faster and faster, take all the friction she can get, chase after the climax she can feel licking up her spine, building in her nerve endings.

When Ash finally sneaks his hand between them, quickly finding her clit and rubbing it with two fingers, she keens in appreciation, the wire of tension in her body winding tighter. Her hips buck up at the additional stimulation, making them lose their rhythm.

“Let me,” she says, her hand joining his between her thighs, pushing him aside gently. “One of us has to keep the rhythm going.”

He shakes his head and laughs quietly before pulling his hand away. His fingers go up to his mouth and he pushes them past his own lips, sucking them clean, then releasing them with a filthy wet plop. He hums as he did before, like she’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Urgency shoots through her and she shoves her index finger between her folds, finding the nub of her clit under its velvety hood and rubbing firmly, frantically seeking her release.

Primal sounds are growing deep down in her throat, and she grabs at the back of his neck, pulling him into a fierce, relentless kiss, her own taste thick on his tongue.

His movements become jerkier, less fluid, and she can tell he’s close, getting closer every time she clenches around him. She’s not far behind.

He tries to slow down, make it last, but she’s not having it, wrapping her legs around him, keeping up a rapid pace. The time for restraint has long since passed.

“Oh fuck, Syl,” he growls, barely coherent, “I’m gonna-”

He goes completely out of sync, hips thrusting hard and fast, teeth against the nape of her neck, pressing guttural sounds into her skin.

She rubs her clit furiously now, pushing her hips high and higher into him, desperate to come while he’s still inside her, while she can still feel the delicious press of his flesh within her.

And then her world tilts, her whole body pulling taut, muscles straining against her skin. Stars explode behind her eyelids, fall onto her skin. A million pinpricks tingling on her body, like she’s plunged into a meteor shower. Distantly, she hears herself cry out.

When it’s over, her limbs completely drained of tension, she falls back onto the mattress, sated and loose, sweaty and smiling.

She feels him slip from her and move, flopping next to her onto his back. His hand is a warm presence atop hers, his thumb drawing patterns as they both cool down. After a while, he bends over her, sweeping her hair from her face and kissing her softly.

She grins up at him, comfortable, happy.

Ash fetches the comforter from the foot of her bed and drapes it around the both of them, like it’s the most natural thing for him to sleep in her bed tonight.

He yawns, then kisses her temple. “Good night.”

Sylvia burrows into his side, slinging one arm across his belly. A cloud of contentment settles around her as he pulls her close, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

She hears her own words slur together as she murmurs, “Good night.”

It does feel like the most natural thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing those two, and I hope you enjoyed reading about them just as much.
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